


Before, During, After

by PepperCat



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Crying, Gen, House Party, House guest, Pre-Canon, Rathaway revenge, Reading, Spring Break, Texting, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unrequited Crush, awkwardly hitting on someone who's not at all interested, being bullied by an eight-year-old, books as gifts, but in different ways, canon-compatible, disowned for being gay, falling asleep, family weekend, finding out your crush is a terrible person, implicit ones anyway, just not mentioning, mother-son bonding, not keeping secrets, parents not paying attention, probation at CNRI, secrets from parents, someone needs to be responsible, spoiled rich kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6767287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperCat/pseuds/PepperCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hartley Rathaway was seventeen, his friend's brother died.</p><p>When his friend was seventeen, her brother came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're Where You Should Be All The Time (16, 21)

**Author's Note:**

> So it is in my head that Hartley Rathaway and Thea Queen know each other, and have since she was eight and he was thirteen. This is an assortment of interactions between them, from before Oliver's disappearance on the _Queen's Gambit_ to after his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring break the year before _Arrow_ started, when Hartley was twenty-one and Thea was sixteen.

Hartley usually goes home for spring break, but when he finds out his roommate and friends—Carson and Raiss and Pearce, Michael's friends, not his—were hitting Starling, he arranged to go there first, come home a couple of days late. Pearce said there was going to be a house party at the Brickwells, and Hartley knows he can get into  _that_. And if it's boring (or bittersweet, or hurts too much), he'll just go back to Central early. His parents won't mind.

It is a  _terrible_  idea. He knows Michael sees him as something like an amusing pet, an ego boost to play with on the odd boring evening, but he can't help it and doesn't want to. That mostly-unrequited occasionally-indulged feeling gets him up in the mornings, the erratic rewards turning the craving into a compulsion. He's making a fool of himself and Michael doesn't even pay enough attention to tease him about it.

It doesn't start out so badly. Thea's there, and Hartley has the supreme satisfaction of being in the middle of a conversation with her when Michael spots them, of brushing him off for a second to finish talking to her before turning to him. Thea catches it and grins, gives Hartley a hug and bounces away to talk to someone else while Hartley ends up actually managing to talk to Michael, although it's mostly watching his roommate's mouth move and trying to find ways to make him laugh with the occasional sharp observations about the other guests. Thea keeps coming back—with drinks, with news, with the occasional hug. At some point Judith Redmond interrupts; Michael slips away while Hartley's listening to her drone.

The music changes to something higher and faster, and Hartley feels his nerves itch. Thea isn't back yet, and it's not nearly as much fun being here without someone to talk to (and Redmond didn't count, anyway). He tells himself he's not worried, he's just bored; and then tells himself there's no reason to be worried; and then puts down his drink and goes looking.

The main room glitters; the music's a skirl of something electronic shot through with what he'd guess is violins, the strings running low and sweet. He catches up to one of Thea's friends, gets a shrug and a direction and goes through the hallways. It's early, and most of the doors are open and the rooms inside are dark.

Most. One isn't.

Thea's standing at the back of the room with Michael's hand on her arm, and Carson and Raiss are further away from her but clearly, casually, between her and the door. Hartley blinks, spends a second parsing it all and another one telling himself  _Michael wouldn't—_  before he sees the too-tight set of Thea's shoulders and the pinched look in her eyes.

Alright. No. No way in hell. He steps inside, leaving the door open behind him.

"Hi, Michael."

"Hartley!" Michael's voice is bright and cheerful. "You mind moving along? Room's kinda full."

"Sure, Thea and I'll just head out then." He takes a couple of steps forward, and Carson moves and is not quite blocking him, but it's close.

"Awh, she doesn't need to leave."

"We've got plans."

Michael laughs, but he's moving away a little, even if it's just so he can face Hartley with his hand still on Thea's shoulder.

"Hey, Hartley," she says, managing a smile. "How're you doing?" She takes a step forward and Michael grabs her arm. There's a small rip at the top of her sleeve, maybe an inch of torn seam along the shoulder join, and Hartley can see pale skin through it. He's sure that wasn't there the last time she leaned over the back of the couch to hug him.  


He knows it's a very small thing to get upset about. That doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"She's hanging out with us, Rathaway." Carson puts one hand in the center of Hartley's chest, pushing lightly, and Hartley braces as best he can, but if Carson pushes any harder—

He pushes down the anxiety hissing in his stomach and does his best to imitate his father's voice. Not angry. Getting ready to be annoyed; that's all Osgood Rathaway needs to do, most times. "Get out of my way, Carson. Or everyone will find out what your father pays his girlfriend to do to him, and where he gets the money for it." He's not sure that's enough. "And I'll make sure he knows you're the reason it came out."

Carson stops pushing. Better. Hartley glances as Raiss, who's rubbing one hand over his mouth. "Raiss, you know the Harburg scholarship's conditional on the family's approval, right? If you think  _I'm_  uptight, you've never seen Allan Harburg. Old family friend."

"Wait, he's on  _Harburg's_  dime?" Thea says, her eyes widening innocently. Her voice is shaking a little, but she's gotten her gleeful ready-to-gossip tone down pretty well. "Wow. He could maybe get away with the drinking, but some of the stuff happening here..."

"I know, right?"

"Jesus, Hartley, you're really getting dramatic!" Michael laughs and Hartley wishes this hadn't happened, that he'd known a little more before he'd gotten tangled up with Michael, that the laugh that used to make him relax and flush wasn't currently making him feel like vermin were crawling down his spine. "What would you do to me?"  


Hartley sticks his hands in his pockets and offers a disarming smile. "I keep pictures."

There's a moment of silence.

"Fuck you," Michael says. He shoves Thea forward and she hurries across the room but doesn't run and keeps her chin up. Hartley can see her eyes shining as he reaches out and puts one arm around her shoulder. "Take your fucking cunt of a friend and get out of here."

"It was just a joke." That from Carson.

"Funny," Hartley says politely, stepping back and holding Thea against him; it's like dance class years ago, leading her back. "You guys have a great night." He keeps moving back, gets himself and Thea clear of the door and closes it behind them. The music rises up around them and his head starts to hurt.

"Can we get out—" Thea grabs his hand and starts pulling him along. Takes him through the back and out back to the garden before she stops moving and he can see her shaking. The air is damp, and spring in Starling is too cold for anyone else to be out here.

"Thea?"

She lets go of his hand and hugs herself, and she's starting to make ragged noises that aren't quite crying and he doesn't know what to do. Hartley hasn't had a lot of experience with needing comfort or giving it, and the patterns he has to go on are pretty thin on the ground.

"It's— it's cold," is what he manages. "Here." He tries to put his jacket around Thea's shoulders. She slaps his hands away, but grabs the jacket before it falls. He isn't sure if that's progress or not, but it seems like a good sign.

"Thea?" he tries again after a minute. "Can we sit down?"

She nods after a second, and wipes at her face.  There's a step outside the door they came through, and she sits down on it carefully. He sits next to her, forearms on his knees and hands folded loose together. She's crying a little less raggedly now, longer softer sounds, and after a minute she leans towards him and he puts an arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Oh, Sp— Thea, I'm sorry. It's okay." It's not okay, not at all, but he has no idea what to say. "Do you want me to call s—" she's shaking her head and her hair's tickling all over his arm— "okay, no. Okay." He's mumbling, he doesn't know what else to say, so they just sit and after a while the crying tapers off.

"He tore my dress," she says finally.

"I'll get you a new one." It sounds stupid, but she hiccups which is at least a change from crying, so that might be a plus. He pats at her shoulder again, and she straightens up a little.

"Who the fuck is Harburg, anyway?"

"Allan Harburg?" Hartley shrugs. "This really old-school jackass." Who was nowhere near as uptight as Hartley, put it that way. "Bought a wing for the school or something, his family keeps going there. I think mom spoke to him for ten minutes once."

Thea hiccups again, and runs her hands over the back of her neck, pulling her hair up and back from her face and looking at him. "What does the other one's dad pay for?"

He's lost for a second, then makes a small sound of amusement. "I have no idea. Carson brags that his dad's got a girlfriend, I just... ran with it. And the other one—he was my roommate." And  _that's_  going to change as soon as Hartley calls Ethan. "He— cheats on his girlfriend. I don't have pictures, though."

Thea rubs at her eyes, smudging her makeup into glitter and shadow. "Your friends are assholes. He said he wanted to talk about doing something nice for you 'cause you'd helped him with class."

"They're not my friends." He feels guilty nonetheless, and stupid; for thinking better of Michael, for not going looking for her sooner. "They're just people I knew how to push." Not even people he knows well enough to hurt, and that's making him angry right now.

"I wanna get out of here." She's starting to her feet, and he helps her up, staggering a little because his muscles are getting stiff. The step's cold, and the night's getting cold, and he's in shirtsleeves.  


Thea does not want to call the police or go home, and Hartley can't even figure out if he _should_  make her do either, let alone how. He gets a hotel room instead, one of the places his parents might stay if they were in town, and after she's gotten a hot shower and changed into the clothes the concierge brought, they get room service and stay up way too late watching bad movies.

Thea falls asleep on the couch. Hartley means to go to bed, but ends up waking up next to her in the morning, head propped up on the couch arm, a crick down his neck and locking up one of his shoulders.

* * *

He goes home for the rest of the week. It's good to see his family again, but the whole state of affairs leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Mom?" he says on the third day. They're sitting in the atrium; the air smells light and green. He's beating her at chess. He's not winning as quickly as usual, and not because he's letting her win, either. He's distracted.

"Darling?"

"Three of the people at school," he says. "They upset a friend of mine. She's alright, but she doesn't want to bring it up. Officially."

"Is she—" Rachel Rathaway catches herself. "I'm sorry she had to make that decision." She's stopped looking at the board. Hartley hasn't; he has his chin on one hand, his elbow on the table, looking at the whole board crossways and catching glimpses of her expression from the corner of his eye.

"She'll be alright," he says. "But I'd like to do something."

"And you want to do that without... breaching your friend's privacy?"

"Pretty much." He takes one of her knights with his bishop. If she's going to miss a move he's setting up, it's usually one that involves his bishops. He catches her wincing at the loss, but not an upset wince, just that slight wrinkle in her nose. Then her expression smooths out to thoughtful.

"Is this someone you're seeing, Hartley?" She holds up a hand as he starts to sigh. "I'm not pushing, I promise. But it makes a difference if this is someone you need to make a good impression on later. Or someone you might want to tell about it."

"No, it's— not like that." He runs his hand through his hair, looks up. "They scared her, mom. Someone showed up, and it ended up alright, but she was right to be scared."

She makes an _I see_  noise, and her gaze sharpens. It's a look she wears sometimes for work, sometimes when she's deciding what to do about someone upsetting her family. "Do you want me to take care of this for you once you tell me about them, or do you want to help?"

He thinks of Michael's easy laugh, his fingers, the peach-sweet grin Hartley's seen on his mouth. The curl on that same mouth when he pushed Thea away. And he smiles, sharp and humourless, and his mother smiles back.

"I want to help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not suggesting that the actions outlined in the fic are the best way to deal with the situation, but I think there are worse ones, and particularly given the ages they were at I don't think Thea and Hartley did especially badly.
> 
> I am still a heartfelt proponent of setting the Rathaways on fire, but it's occasionally nice to step back and think about what it was like before they kicked him out.


	2. You're Never Alone, 'Cause You Can Put On The Phones (18 (just), 23)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text exchange at the end of January 2013 (after episode 11 of the first season of _Arrow_ ).

**Thea:** FML: I crashed my car, found out dad used to cheat on mom, nearly went to jail, and now I'm on probation working as a FILE CLERK except I'm not getting paid. How's your 2013?

> **Hartley:** My parents disowned me. I win.

**Thea:** Oh shit.

 **Thea:** What happened?

 **Thea:** Are you okay?

> **Hartley:** I told them.

**Thea:** You told them you're gay?

 **Thea:** Did they seriously not know?

 **Thea:** They DISOWNED you for that? Is that even legal?

> **Hartley:** (1) Yes. (2) It's entirely possible that they realized and simply chose not to address it before I explicitly told them, but I can't exactly ask them at this point as they're not speaking to me. Can I point out that you see a slightly different side of me than my parents do? (3) Yes. Yes it is.

**Thea:** Jesus.

 **Thea:** What are you going to do?

> **Hartley:** Unpack. I found another place.
> 
> **Hartley:** It doesn't have enough shelving. Do you think I should have the initial sorting of my books be by language or subject matter?

**Thea:** Wait, when did this happen?

> **Hartley:** Seventeen days ago.

**Thea:** Why didn't you TELL me?

> **Hartley:** I can't imagine. "Please accept my slightly early wishes for a happy 18th birthday! Can I whine at you about something you can't fix while you're planning your party?" I should have done that.
> 
> **Hartley:** I hope you had fun, though. Seriously.

**Thea:** Until I crashed the car.

> **Hartley:** I'm glad you're alright. (You are, aren't you? I assumed they wouldn't wheel you out of the hospital to make you be a file clerk. You have to be alright.)

**Thea:** I'm okay. :)

 **Thea:** It could've been way worse. Ollie gave me a bunch of advice for the hearing, but the judge was really pissy.

> **Hartley:** Ollie gave you useful advice?

**Thea:** Uh, I was in court for a DUI? No kidding he gave me useful advice.

> **Hartley:** Queen sibling bonding is very peculiar.
> 
> **Hartley:** (Not to suggest that Rathaway family interactions are in any way better.)

**Thea:** Yeah, it's been weird lately. I swear you're like the most stable person I know right now.

 **Thea:** Hartley?

> **Hartley:** What?

**Thea:** I'm sorry your parents are assholes. You don't deserve that shit.

 **Thea:** And it was brave of you to tell them, you know?

[ . . . ]

 **Thea:** Hartley?

> **Hartley:** You're the first person to tell me that.

**Thea:** Hah.

 **Thea:** ...wait, are you serious?

> **Hartley:** Yes.

**Thea:** Seriously? NO. No way. What about your friends? What did they say?

> **Hartley:** I'm not talking to a lot of people right now. Multa hospicia, nullas amicitias.

**Thea:** I am not looking that up, but please believe me that I will kick your ass if something else bad happens and you don't tell me. 

> **Hartley:** You have the most peculiar way of showing that you care.

**Thea:** I mean it.

> **Hartley:** I know. Don't worry. I'll be alright.
> 
> **Hartley:** I'm staying busy. When I'm not unpacking I'm job-hunting and they never had much to do with that anyway. It's just slow.

**Thea:** You want me to ask mom and see if there's anything at Queen Consolidated? She always liked you.

> **Hartley:** She always thought I was polite. Anyway, I just finished moving once. I'm going to finish looking around Central first.

**Thea:** If it doesn't work out let me know. You can move to Starling and file stuff with me! I bet they'd pay YOU.

> **Hartley:** You're so encouraging!

**Thea:** There's a really cute law clerk working there.

> **Hartley:** I'm still thinking 'no'. But you can send pics.

**Thea:** Eye candy tomorrow. ;)

> **Hartley:** Peculiar but appreciated. :)
> 
> **Hartley:** I really want to finish getting at least this one bookshelf in order tonight, alright? I'll catch you later.

**Thea:** Okay. Stay in touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He had to tell someone, right?


	3. "...a worse-than-usual-fix." (17, 22)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horribly. Awkward. Moment.

Then there was the time Thea hit on him.

It turned into a transcendentally embarrassing moment for her before she even sobered up, and was uncomfortable all around, and they didn't speak for nearly two months after. But texting makes it easier to get back in touch without needing to look someone in the face and they worked it out.

Hartley can still get Thea to turn red and smack him by dropping the line "Come on, are you _sure_ he's not bi?" into conversation.

(He does this very sparingly, and only if she's in a mood to find it funny.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from Wendy Cope's poem "An Unfortunate Choice", in which she bemoans the fact that she's in love with A E Housman (who is both gay and, as of this writing, eighty years dead).


	4. Between High School and Old School (8, 13)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the Queen's house, one weekend in the summer of 2003.

It's meant to be a social thing, an offer of hospitality since his parents are going to be in Starling for other reasons, but Hartley knows it's business. He is planning to go and be polite and quiet, which is generally enough to make a good impression. He isn't bringing more than two books, but he's bringing an iPod. He promises not to use it around the parents, but (as he points out), the Queen's son is eighteen and if Hartley being around makes Oliver irritated or bored, the parents will pick up on that. If Hartley keeps himself entertained and Oliver can politely ignore him, it'll make a better all-around impression.

"You're overthinking this," his father says.

"I'm right."

"I know you're right." His father looks a little... perplexed, maybe. Mostly pleased, but a little perplexed. "Oliver Queen's a little-- rambunctious--"

"The Queen scapegrace," Hartley says. "I know."

Osgood shakes his head and smiles. "Your mother and I know the Queens. It'll be alright if you-- I know it's not how you'd like to spend a weekend, but you'll be a guest, Hartley. You don't have to be so self-effacing."

Hartley shrugs. "This matters to you. I want to help." And his father smiles, and Hartley feels himself relax into a smile back, feeling glad and useful and wanted.

* * *

Hartley doesn't spend a lot of time around people his own age. He goes to school, because you do, but he's skipped ahead several classes and spends his free time with tutors or alone. He doesn't know anyone his age well enough to really interact with them while he's at school, and most of them have no interest in changing that.

He thinks, vaguely, that he's missing out on something, but he doesn't worry about it a lot. Not having common interests means it's perfectly natural to be a little adrift, and spend more time with people old enough to understand him; he assumes it'll be easier when he grows up.

Moira Queen is like his mother; a little more polished and a little more brittle, but she relaxes a little when she meets him. Hartley knows he comes across as cold sometimes, but this is what manners are good for; when he shows adults that he knows how to behave properly, they usually trust him to behave properly in the future and relax. Robert Queen reminds him of the history tutor he had last year; Hartley doesn't trust him, but he can be perfectly polite to him. He's asking about Robert's plans to go skeet-shooting with his father when a charmingly dishevelled blond with a smile that's both self-serving and dazzling bounces into the room and puts one arm around Moira Queen with a "Hey, mom!"

"Hello, Oliver." Hartley looks over to his parents, who are smiling patiently. His father's nodding to the slightly slimmer, black-haired man who's followed Oliver in, and asking politely after his father; no-one is looking at Hartley, and that's okay.

"Mom," Oliver Queen says, sounding like one of the seniors at Hartley's school and not at all like a classical Greek statue that's come to life and put on artfully casual clothes that are unfairly flattering, "Tommy'n me are going out for a bit, okay?"

"Oliver." Moira carefully isn't sounding pained, exactly, but careful. "You said you'd watch your sister today."

Oliver groans, but he glances at the Rathaways and modulates it; Hartley very much wants to tell Oliver that he doesn't need to hold back because of the Rathaways being there, and also not to draw the slightest attention to himself. "Mom, Thea'll be fine for an hour."

"Can't you bring her along with you?" Oliver's blue--very blue--eyes get a little squinch of pain at the outer corners at the suggestion, but he keeps the smile on.

"Awh, mom, Thea was so excited to meet your guests!"

"Oliver, I was really hoping--" They aren't going to fight in front of people who aren't family, but it's starting to look uncomfortable and Hartley hates the idea.

"I could keep an eye on her?" he volunteers. He doesn't know much about Thea, but she's just a child. Even if most children don't sit and read as much as he did, it can't be that difficult. Not for just an hour. "I'm sure it wouldn't be any trouble."

Oliver's grin widens and Tommy looks like he's stifling a laugh and Hartley looks away from that smile and back at his parents and they're just looking pleased with him and everything is going to be _fine_.

"See, mom? Harry can keep an eye on Speedy until we get back. We won't be long."

"Hartley," Moira corrects, but Oliver just kisses her on the cheek and then he and Tommy are gone. Moira Queen smiles at Hartley. "That's very kind of you. Would you mind letting her give you a tour of the house? She's very excited to have guests."

* * *

Thea Queen is hell itself wearing a red dress and black tights.

She is eight. She is, Hartley thinks as politely as possible, energetic and extroverted and vocal. He could probably handle that if her idea of a tour was anything like linear. But instead it involves starting in the living room and going up the stairs and up the stairs to see the room with the cool window and back to the ground floor to see the library and up to the second floor to see the balcony over the front door--

"--and I used to have a cat but daddy said he was a tiger and we had to take him home so we did but I had a pet tiger for a day. And my friend Judy has a dog that can swim underwater and she lets me pet the dog but she talks a _lot_ so when I go over there I always have to be really polite because she never remembers to ask things. What do you like?"

The sudden silence is baffling. Hartley blinks for a moment and falls back on a reflex. "Reading and music?"

Thea grins. "We have a piano!" she declares. "Come on and see." She grabs his shirt cuff and starts pulling him along. Hartley is starting to wish that he'd had time to contemplate the nickname _Speedy_ before he made his offer. "Can you play piano?"

"Yes."

"They don't let me play it yet! You should play."

"Are you sure your parents will be alright with that?"

"Yeah, you can play!" She drags him into the room, one hand still firmly around his shirt cuff, and starts trying to lift the piano lid with her free hand. Hartley bangs his knee on the leg of the piano bench and grabs the piano lid before it slips and falls on her fingers. Thea lets him sit down and then hangs onto the edge of the piano and Hartley rapidly finds out that his musical training has not covered enough Disney soundtracks to entertain an eight-year-old. But he tries.

"You'll get better," Thea tells him nicely. "Now you pick something and play! I bet you I can dance. And then I need to take you to the clock and the dining room and the sunroom and..."

Somehow _Flight of the Bumblebee_ seems very appropriate. Hartley plays it at quarter-speed, because he can't do better than that yet, and also he is not looking forward to the tour continuing. The Queens have a very large house.

* * *

They meet Raisa in the kitchen. Thea thinks Hartley speaking to Raisa in Russian is the most awesome thing she has seen in at least the last hour. When Raisa asks how he's enjoying the day, Hartley sees Thea staring up at him like he's about to pull a rabbit out of his sleeve and bites back his initial response of _It's been a little tiring_ in favour of "Thea _yavlyayetsya bol'shim_... uhm, _entuziazmom chelovek_." _Thea is a very enthusiastic girl._

Raisa smiles. "He thinks you're being a lovely hostess," she says to Thea, and the little girl grins.

* * *

"--and I got daddy a tie for his birthday and he took it to the office and wears it for _important_ meetings because it's the best tie. And my dad wears the best ties."

"I'm sure he does." This house has far too many stairs. Hartley is starting to think their _own_  house has far too many stairs, and is considering moving into the guest house for a few days when they get home. If he never sees another riser it will be too soon.

"My mom has the prettiest dresses, too."

Hartley wonders if this is competition or just Thea being eight. He is _not_  going to compare the wardrobes of their respective families. "Your dress is nice too."

"I got it when I went to Judy's party!"

"Judy's the one who talks a lot, right?"

"Yes!" Alright, eight is definitely too young for subtle hints. "I had the best dress, but she had cake and nail polish, and no-one else had nail polish. But I asked and now I get to wear it as long as I'm careful and if I don't make a mess. If I make a mess I don't get new things until I'm older. Do you want nail polish?"

"No, thank you."

"You should wear nail polish."

"That's not happening."

"Why not?"

"Because Rathaways comply with socially enforced gender norms." Even stupidly retrograde ones, he feels, but he is not going to start  _that_  discussion. "Your brother doesn't wear it, does he?" --if he does, that was probably not something to base an argument on. _Does_ he? Probably not, although Hartley finds he is suddenly trying to imagine Oliver Queen with guyliner. He could probably pull it off. Those eyes would excuse several fashion sins, assuming he ever committed any. Between all the other sins, that is--

"No, but he's _old_!" Thea stares at him wide-eyed for a minute, as if such an obvious distinction shouldn't need to be made. "You don't have to be. You should wear nail polish."

"I'm good, thanks."

"I like red. I'll get you red nail polish."

" _No._ "

"Don't you like red?"

* * *

"Oh s-- _merde_ \-- Thea, you can't swing on the banisters!"

"Why not?" she says as Hartley hauls her back between the balusters, heart still somewhere in his mouth from the sight of her saddle shoes swinging out over the open air past the edge of the staircase.

"Because if your mother sees do that you she will _kill_ me." Hell, _his_  mother would probably kill him. Slightly. And both fathers. And possibly her brother, although quite frankly since her brother is letting her run around nearly unsupervised and clearly excited he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on.

"Nuh- _uh_ , she'd be mad at Ollie." Thea lets go of the handrail and moves back towards the middle of the stair tread and Hartley starts breathing again

"Well, let's not have that happen either."

"D'you like my brother?"

 _Yes. No. Not in the way you're probably asking about._ "...sure. Don't you?" Thea nods and Hartley takes her hand and starts back downstairs, carefully staying between her and the handrail. "So no swinging from the banisters, okay?"

"Can I jump down the stairs?"

"No."

"I can jump four stairs!" This is apparently a source of great pride. "Can I jump in the pool?"

"Ask your parents."

* * *

There is a moment of peace while Thea is finding her parents. It is shattered, emotionally and vocally, by the triumphant announcement that she's allowed to go in the pool as long as Hartley is outdoors with her.

Moira gives him a sympathetic look when he assures her that he'll be fine just sitting next to the pool and keeping an eye on Thea. Hartley suspects Moira understands how exhausting her daughter can be.

* * *

Oliver ( _Ollie_ ) and Tommy come out later. It has been three hours and change since they said they'd be back. Hartley hides behind his book at the poolside and decides he is just keeping an eye on Thea.

"Hey, Hartley!" Oliver Queen is grinning, and Hartley feels unreasonably pleased that Oliver's gotten his name right. He tries to tell himself that he's probably just glad someone else is keeping an eye on Thea for a little while and doesn't quite manage. But mostly managing to convince himself is okay. "Thanks for watching Thea this weekend, okay?"

"You're welcome." He keeps the exasperation out of his voice. "She's a nice kid." She is, he supposes. She's self-involved, but that's how it works at that age, and she's not actively being petty or brattish.

\--wait, this _weekend_? Not just earlier today or today?

Hartley opens his mouth to say something about Oliver taking over but Oliver is already getting back in the water. Thea is holding onto the edge of the pool and kicking very hard, although Hartley is not sure if the goal is splashing her brother or just kicking up as much spray as humanly possible. Tommy cannonballs into the pool, but Hartley sees it coming and shields his book. He decides not to say anything in the hopes that they'll actually all stay there long enough for him to finish the chapter on Mims.

He ends up watching the pool anyway, because it's a swimming pool and someone responsible should watch the small child in the swimming pool and Oliver Queen and Tommy Merlyn disporting in swim trunks in the afternoon sun have many qualities but they are not responsible people and this is _so_ not how he was expecting to spend his day and it's less than ideal but on balance he supposes he's not going to complain. Because he's a guest. And it would be rude.

* * *

"You already showed me the house, Thea."

"Okay, but the gardens!" Thea is bouncing up and down; someone (Raisa?) has bribed her to sit still long enough to have her hair braided, although it's still wet. "Come on come on come on I should show you the gardens before dinner."

"How late do your parents let you stay up?" _When is this over?_

"I'm a Queen," she informs him. "I can stay up as late as I want!"

"You're not old enough to be a queen," he says irritably, and then when she starts to look stricken and angry, "You're a princess, alright? But I don't think we have time to see the garden before dinner."

"But you should see the gardens!" She is still looking upset, although much less angry.

"I'll see them tomorrow, okay?"

She is suddenly grinning again. _Drat._ "Okay, and you promised. Tomorrow!"

* * *

Mercifully, someone in the Queen household apparently enforces a reasonable bedtime for eight-year-olds, and Hartley can excuse himself without annoying anyone after dinner. He's managed to actually put a decent dent in his book by the time his father stops by.

"How're you doing?"

He smiles. "If I was even a _bit_ like that I don't understand why I ever saw you and mom instead of just the  _au pair_ s when I was younger."

"You weren't. You were a good kid."

Hartley isn't quite sure what to say to that. "I don't think she's a bad kid," he settles on, hesitantly. "She wants to do the right thing. She just knows that you're supposed to keep guests entertained."

"And busy."

"Well, it wouldn't do to let me get _bored_." He gives up on the smile and shrugs. "I don't mind. She isn't a brat, and you and mom probably don't want her interrupting her parents." While her brother is off doing whatever the hell is more important than being polite to family guests. "Dad, am I really _that_ staid?"

"Compared to Thea Queen?" His father smiles; Hartley picks apart the component emotions behind it. Mostly contentment, a little bit of pride. He doubts the Queens look at Oliver that way.

"You're a good son, Hartley."

He doesn't want to think about Oliver Queen right now.

"I try," he says, and his father gives him a slightly odd look, but Hartley is his mother's son. The day when he cannot protect his father by passing _unhappiness_ off as _innocent sincerity and a slight wish to get back to his book_ has not yet arrived.

(It will come. Not for years yet, but it will come.)

* * *

Breakfast the next day is lavish. Oliver Queen is not present and nobody remarks on this. Thea is telling her father a story about a pet; Hartley thinks it's Judy's dog, and assumes that she feels she's discharged her duty as a host and will spend the day doing whatever eight-year-olds do when they're not exhausting sensible, quietly bookish guests. But she comes over to stand next to him, and puts one hand on his sleeve. "We're going to the garden this morning, okay?"

"Thea, darling, it's going to rain," Moira interjects.

"But we have _cooaats_." The last word is drawn out impressively, hopefulness that by Hartley's judgement stops just short of whining.

"It's going to rain, Thea."

Thea lets go of Hartley's sleeve and goes over to Robert Queen. Rachel Rathaway is smiling no more or less than she was before; Hartley can read the tiny shift at the outer corners of her eyes well enough to know she's smug, but he doubts Moira can. He doesn't think she has much to be smug about; like him, Thea knows which of her parents to ask for permission and when to do it. The difference between them, Hartley suspects, is just that he's more careful about not letting the wrong one overhear him.

Robert Queen has apparently been paying enough attention to the gathering clouds outside that he upholds Moira's injunction on the garden. Thea comes back looking-- well, not quite stricken, and Moira makes a sympathetic noise.

"Thea, find something else for your friend to do, alright?"

* * *

She _is_  trying to be nice to her guest, he realizes. He understands that. She's just not very good yet at understanding that the guest might not really be interested in watching _Lilo & Stitch_.

\--which he privately admits is actually not a half-bad movie.

He convinces her to watch _The Court Jester_ afterwards, and viciously hopes that she'll try to teach Oliver the lines about the vessel with the pestle. Not that he'd pay attention long enough.

"Where's your brother?" he says when they've paused the movie to get more popcorn.

"It's a secret."

"A secret? Wow." Hartley wonders if that means she's not going to tell him, or her parents didn't tell her, or she didn't overhear it. "I hope he's okay."

"He's okay," Thea assures him. "He borrowed someone's car and broke it. But he did it late so he's going to come home as soon as he feels better."

"Come home? Where's he staying?"

"He's at Tommy's."

"Is he at Tommy's a lot?"

She nods. "And sometimes Tommy's here. But not this weekend, 'cause of you."

Oh. "Sorry."

"It's okay, you're nicer than he is." Thea does not specify whether she means Oliver or Tommy. "They're friends since forever."

"Really?"

She nods. "He and Tommy like each other best. But it's okay, 'cause everyone likes him. Even Raisa likes him and he doesn't come to dinner sometimes."

Hartley looks at the eight-year-old sitting next to him on the couch, face lit by the cheerful glare of the TV screen, and thinks of her parents and brother leaving her alone with a bored thirteen-year-old. He is suddenly trying very hard not to be angry. It's not that _he's_  a bad person, but he's met twelve- and thirteen-year-olds who've turned petty cruelty into an art form, and some of them had parents who would have sworn they were perfect angels.

 _Ohana_. Right.

"Well, I like you better than I like him. You're nicer to me." Admittedly she is nicer to him than nearly anyone he knows, but even if it's because he's a guest, it's a pleasant change.

Thea doesn't answer, but pokes Hartley's side. "[Start the movie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hgt2hCDgr4)?"

_Would you grant the king a little kiss?_

_Oh, certainly, sire, and don't worry. They say it isn't catching._

* * *

"You like books, right?"

"I do. I brought some, but they're school books." Because he is  _not_  going to start talking up the history of electronics to an eight-year-old. "What about you?" He is bracing for a _no_ , and is pretty sure he can keep a perfectly pleasant face if she answers that way. He didn't flinch when her tour yesterday spent less time on the library than on the coat closet, after all.

"Yeah, but we only have  _old_  ones. I mean, here. D'you wanna see?"

"If it's alright with your parents--" Surely the library can't be a problem. Unless it has rolling stepladders on the back shelves, and he is fairly sure he can keep Thea away from those.

"They said I could show you the library yesterday, but we didn't have time to read. But it's raining today. Come on."

"Thea," Hartley says patiently as she skips down the hallway, "are we going to the library so I can read to you?"

She grins up at him. "You like reading, right?"

* * *

Raisa finds them in the library. Thea is asleep on one of the chairs, curled up with her feet on the cushion and her head pillowed on her arm. Hartley is sitting in the chair next to her, quietly working through _Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH_. He has  _Charlotte's Web_  on his lap, the flap of the dust-jacket marking a place a third of the way through.

"She fell asleep," Hartley says. His voice is a little raw; he is pretty sure he was reading for over an hour straight before Thea started to drop off. "I wasn't sure if I should wake her up, and I didn't think I should leave her alone." He's slightly relieved that Raisa is there, actually, although he doesn't see a reason to admit it. He's not sure how regularly eight-year-olds need to sleep. They're supposed to be able to stay up all day, aren't they? But she was running around a lot yesterday, and the book kept talking about falling asleep.

"How long has she been asleep?"

Hartley glances at his watch. "Forty-three minutes."

Raisa looks slightly amused. "Not too long." She bends over Thea and touches her on the shoulder. "Wake up,  _соня_. You should eat something that isn't popcorn before dinner."

Hartley leaves the books neatly stacked on the edge of one of the shelves and follows them to the kitchen. Raisa is making sandwiches, and he can't decide if this is more or less casual than at home. At home he's made his own sandwiches, rather than having anyone else do it for him; but on the other hand their cook doesn't make anything so simple as sandwiches, so that seems more relaxed.

He doesn't really  _like_  the Queen family's home very much--the lack of structure feels a little like a room with one wall missing and the floor opening directly out onto empty air--but the company is nice.

* * *

Thea brings up nail polish again. Hartley weighs the possible fallout against the likelihood of her managing to convince her parents that a garden tour in the rain would be okay, and lets her apply a clear topcoat. That should be fine. His father gets manicures too, after all.

He strongly suspects his father's manicurists are not so bossy, and do not talk so much about ponies.

* * *

Oliver Queen actually shows up again before they leave. Hartley is _icily_ polite to him when Moira and Robert Queen aren't in the room, although he doesn't think Oliver notices. It makes the entire effort distinctly unsatisfying.

Thea leaves him alone when the Rathaways make polite noises about packing, but she shows up at the door of his room (with Raisa standing too far back in the hallway to be over her shoulder) with an oblong package wrapped in painfully yellow paper and a red ribbon.

"I got you a leaving present because you were a good guest," she announce. "And it _is_ okay with my parents, 'cause you keep asking that. I checked. There's no card."

"Thank you for checking," Hartley says, faintly amused as he takes the package. He didn't bring it up _that_ often, did he? In any case, it's a sweet gesture. "I haven't gotten a leaving present before. Do I open it now?"

"No, you're meant to open it at home. Raisa said." She brightens. "But you can send a thank you card, okay? And tell me you like it."

"Absolutely." He's guessing a book; it's the right size and shape for one, and nothing shifts or rattles when he turns it over to make sure he can pack it without crushing the bow. "I'm sure it'll be lovely. You're a very nice hostess, Thea."

"You can come over again, I checked." Hartley nods. He's pretty sure that means Moira or Robert Queen said _Oh, sometime, dear_ or _The next time his parents are around_ without really listening, but it'll do.

"That'd be nice," he says noncommitally. "I'll try to the next time we're in Starling, alright?" No idea when _that_ will be. And he's already thinking it's silly to basically promise to see if he can babysit.

But since no-one who isn't paid to deal with him wants to talk to him about his interests, it's nice to at least have someone who wants to talk.

* * *

He _does_ send a thank you card. It is a completely archaic form of communication, and as someone who knows six different tie knots, Hartley understands that occasionally those things are very much appreciated.

(His parents take four months to notice that he now owns a first edition (second printing, slightly bowed, good condition except for the **from Thea** printed firmly on the flyleaf) of _Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This runs long, and I worry about the pacing; but overall I am okay with it. (Two of the instances of Thea's behaviour are based on an eight-year-old relative of mine, slightly dramatized; the rest are more generally extrapolated. I do not presume to suggest this is the behaviour of any average or any other eight-year-old.)
> 
> We only really get snippets of Oliver Queen from before the _Queen's Gambit_ went down; we know he's kind of a trashfire, and that the Queens specifically took a hands-off approach to parenting, but it's also suggested that he's a particularly charming person. (I mean, I feel like that's at least one of the more charitable ways to read convincing someone to sleep with you at their rehearsal dinner.)
> 
> One thing this chapter did for me was concretize my idea of (assuming he was generally promoted early through his classes, and spent a lot of time with tutors) how little time Hartley probably spent around anyone his own age as he was growing up.
> 
> Small references:
> 
>   * the Mims that Hartley is reading about is [Forrest M. Mims III](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_Mims), an electronics scientist with no formal academic training and a truly impressive list of accomplishments for all that.
>   * _The Court Jester_ has aged very well and is a fun movie, even leaving aside the (IMHO) painfully funny vessel with the pestle.
>   * I don't actually think Hartley's very good at Russian, and don't head-count it as one of his six languages, but I imagine he's at least as good at it as I am at Italian.
>   * Man this one exploded the number of characters in the tags something fierce.
> 



End file.
